


Though I be weary

by i_claudia



Series: summer pornathon 2013 [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Team Gluttony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 11:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/939204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_claudia/pseuds/i_claudia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Avalon would have been a peaceful place to rest, Arthur thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Though I be weary

**Author's Note:**

> Summer Pornathon 2013. Challenge Five: Canon Era.
> 
> This is a throwaway I never actually posted for pthon, although -- funnily enough -- it's probably one of the fics I like best out of everything I wrote for the 'thon. Post-S5 Avalon!fic.

Avalon would have been a peaceful place to rest, Arthur thinks. It's quiet, green; the trees rise gracefully up until there's no sky to be seen, only gentle sunshine filtering through the layered leaves. The lake is calm, serene as it stretches out away from where he stands on shore, the toes of his boots growing wet from the tiny lapping of wave-tongues, straining to see a limit where he knows there is none. He would have slept here, and let peace sink into him until he forgot the collected heartbreak of one lifetime while waiting for the next, if he had been left alone to do so. 

He has not been alone since the moment the lip of his boat kissed the shore.

“Like this,” Will says. His fingers dig too deeply into the soft backs of Arthur's knees, but Arthur makes no sound. “He was—gods—always so fucking good, so damn _sweet_.” 

Arthur bites back his snarl that Will is anything but sweet; he bites back the hard, dry feeling in his throat that reminds him that this is all he'll get—that he's lost his crown, his land, his life, and all he has left is this: his body in a forsaken forest, another man's cock driving deep to spill him over.

Sometimes he and Will lie close, with only their elbows touching, staring up at the canopy of leaves and trading soft, unconnected stories. 

“The first time,” Will says. “We were so young.” Arthur doesn't need to look at him to know he must be smiling. “We'd gone paddling in the river, left our clothes on the bank. I dared Merlin, bet his dick was smaller than mine. He came first, all over my cock.”

Will has three times to talk about: three stories Arthur knows now better than he'd known his own castle. They're all he has—he'd never had any stories of his own, not with Merlin. Will's stories are all either of them has, except each other, and Merlin creeps in there anyway: they invite him in willingly, urgently. Merlin is the axis around which they turn.

“Show me,” Arthur gasps when Will's on his knees, sucking Arthur's cock with two fingers buried deep enough in Arthur's arse that it makes him dizzy. “Show me how he—I never dared to think it until the end, until it was too late— _fuck_. I looked at him and all I knew was want.” The dryness is back, pushing up out of his throat to press hard behind his eyes, and he fists a hand in Will's hair—the thick, dark hair which could almost be Merlin's, if he doesn't look.

Will's mouth is slippery, his throat tight, and it's all so hot Arthur thinks he must be burning from it, their frustrated desires running together to lay a fire in their skin. Will groans and Arthur shudders—he shudders again when Will pulls off, lips swollen and mouth wrecked; if he closes his eyes, the scrape in Will's voice is enough that he can pretend it's someone else. 

“Not enough,” Will rasps. “He would've—I need—”

Arthur knows what he needs. They're both burning for the same thing; all they have is the power of imitation. 

The slick left from Will's mouth is nearly enough to ease the way, and Arthur likes it better when it hurts. Merlin would be gentle, but this isn't Merlin, and Arthur needs to remember that it's Will's cock, not Merlin's, making him gasp. He'd never seen what was in front of his nose for years; he wants to remember this when his second chance comes—he wants to remember the scratch in his throat and the stone in his gut, because he can't afford to lose the hope that this desperation has given him. 

He knows Merlin's looking for him; all he can do is wait for a boat and pray Merlin doesn't forget.

“When you go back to him,” Will says, voice strained. His cock is deep and familiar, the too-full ache spreading with each thrust until Arthur feels like a ripe fruit about to split. “When you—when he finds you. Promise me.” His breath is hot against the back of Arthur's neck. “Take care of him.”

Arthur shakes when Will fucks into him, against the spot that makes his vision dissolve in sparks. He arches back until Will's stomach slides close and slick against him, Will's chest pressed along his spine; his shudders spread, weakening his arms where he holds himself off the ground. 

He stiffens his elbows, and moves one hand over until it covers Will's. “Always,” he says, without a tremble. “Forever.”


End file.
